"Ow," Pril moans, flinching away from Gull Peeper's prodding. "This feels like the time I fell asleep sunning myself at Gat lake. It all burns."
She struggles to her feet. "Cardinal? You don't, by any chance, have any magic for this?"
The gnome lets out a huge sigh of relief as the healing washes over her.
"You're my new best friend. Sorry, Allandír," she says, closing her eyes. "So what was this thing hiding behind that door?" she asks.
A splintered table stretches across the center of this room, while broken chairs, moldy books, and general detritus litter the floor. Two bodies that appear to be frog-like humanoids lie sprawled on the floor near the center of the room. The creatures wear armor similar to that of the foes you faced previously.
"I guess that means that the oozy thing never made it to this room," she says, indicating the bodies. She contemplates it for a moment. "Unless it just doesn't like frogs." She shrugs and moves in to the northeastern door.
"Well, they do say that you learn by doing." Allandír's voice is soft, as though he is tentatively crossing ice that he is unsure will bear his weight. "I am willing to, ah, gain that experience, when - if - you are."
Unable to provide assistance to Pril, Allandír watches in concern until the Cardinal heals her. "I'm glad you decided to remain with us a while longer," he tells the gnome.
Trusting in his protective boots, he walks through the detritus of the ooze, picking up the longbow. "This is a fine weapon, to have survived that thing's, ah, somewhat acerbic nature."
Empty weapon racks line the walls of this room. Repair forges long abandoned and cold sit in a lonely row toward the back, along with a crude lean-to seemingly made from bits of rope and ripped leather.
After a few seconds, two small reptilian humanoids emerge from the shelter, screeching, "We are dragons and we wants your meats! So... give it up!"
The tall elf nods and is about to reply to the Cardinal when the two so-called 'dragons' appear on the scene.
He turns to face them. "You are, ah, somewhat late in asking. I already gave the meat I had to Bruynarth here." He gestures to the bear. "You can try taking it from him, but I doubt he will appreciate it."
As if understanding the words, the bear rears up onto his hind paws and roars at the scaly critters.
Pril steps between Bruynarth and the creatures. "We may be able to arrange food for you," she says, attempting to smooth things over. "How did you come to be here?"
The creatures shrink back and wince, cowed by the harsh words and the bear's roars. They perk up again when Pril steps forward. "Yes, we is very hungry! I am Pib," says the green-scaled one, "and this is Zarf. We used to live next to the Bumblebrasher goblins until those stupid Cinderclaws showed up and chased us away."
"They claim to worship dragons, and yet they do not respect us, mighty as we are!" Zarf declares. "We are to be awed! Feared for our power! Would you not agree?"
"You are kin to dragons," Pril says diplomatically. "That if nothing else should engender respect from those around you."
She looks around the room. "We are attempting to restore the goblins to their home, but we may or may not be able to do that. If we had to find them another place to live, would you be interested in joining them?"
Pib shrugs. "Meh. We live next to the goblins for a while. They never bothered us, but we not really friends. If we not get old home back, probably move on somewhere else."
"But if you going to kill Cinderclaws here, we can help!" Zarf says. "We kill two froggy guys already!"
"You are welcome to come along with us," Pril answers. "However, I think we've just about finished the basement."
This room mirrors the one to the south, with ruined oil paintings depicting Hellknights of the Nail performing great deeds. However, one of these is a little water damaged at its edges, but still entirely intact. The painting depicts three Hellknights battling a black dragon in an ominous swamp. A fourth Hellknight leaps from a rise behind the dragon with her halberd raised, ready to bear down on the dragon’s back, while a robed Hellknight in the background attends to a wounded knight. In the corner of the painting, the artist has signed their work: “R. Stagram.”
Alak looks at the painting with reverence. "This was made by my great-great-uncle. He was a talented painter, but I thought all of his works had been destroyed once the Hellknights abandoned this place. It would mean a lot to me if I could take this with me."
Pril bows towards the large man.
"You're welcome to have it, Sir," she says.
She looks around at the room a little longer. "So that means we've removed the Cinderclaws from the keep and the goblins should be able to return to the basement if they'd like. Shall we follow that tunnel now and see where it leads?"
She leans in close to Allandír.
"Hopefully not to some necromancer," she says quietly.
Allandír nods in agreement with the gnome. "It, ah, seems entirely fitting that your ancestor's portrait should go back to you, Sir Alak."
He makes a wry grimace at Pril's other comment. "I share your discomfort at the thought - but, ah, rather us tracking the necromancer, than the other way around, hmm?"
"Did the stairway out in the main hall go down to another level?" Pril asks as she attempts to remember.
"The stairs in the main hall likely once lead to the vault, where the deeds should be, but it looks like the rubble blocking them will prevent access that way. It will take some time to clear it all away," Alak says.
"Well, I guess that can come later. We need to find out where that tunnel ends up," Pril says with a frown.
"Well, looks like all the Cinderclaws are already dead!" Pib says.
"Or they heard mighty dragons were coming so they all ran away!" Zarf says with a laugh.
"Yes, that must be it!" Pib agrees. "Looks like we can go back home. Thank you, friends!" The kobolds bid farewell as you start down the tunnel back towards Breachill.
Traveling down this tunnel is fairly uneventful, and after walking for a mile, it ends at a small underground room with a wooden ladder leading up to a trap door in the ceiling. Clambering up the ladder and opening the trap door, you emerge into a basement storeroom full of jars upon jars of pickles. Pickled cucumbers, beets, radishes, onions, cauliflower, chicken’s feet, and pig's ears line shelves along the walls.
After a few minutes, a scruffy waiter opens the door to the storeroom. Surprised to see you there, he gives you a disapproving look. "Hey! This area is for employees only. Go on, now! Back into the common room!"
"Sorry about that," Pril offers, her face turning slightly pink. "We got turned around."
She moves out to the indicated room. Taking in the ambiance.
And looking for the owner.
You emerge into the taproom of the Pickled Ear. It's a rough-and-tumble dive bar and tavern frequented by locals and hardscrabble adventurers alike. It looks like the kind of place where a brawl breaks out nightly.
The propietor Roxie Denn stands behind the bar. The tall woman squints at you suspiciously as you step out from the storeroom.
Pril steps bravely up to the bar and orders a mug of whatever's on tap.
Once she pays and takes a sip, she gives the woman a smile. "Hey, did you know that there's a tunnel in your basement that goes all the way to the Hellknight's keep?" she asks.
"What? That's ridiculous. I know nothing about that," Roxie insists.
"Nothing? Wow, and it was right in the middle of your basement as well," Pril responds incredulously. "It's amazing the things that can be right in front of us and we don't notice them," she continues with a shake of her head. The picture of sincerity. She takes another sip of her drink. "And the weirder thing was that we know someone very recently came from here to the keep and then returned back here."
She shakes her head.
"They tried raising undead things at the keep, but failed. I tell you, the older I get, the less I'm surprised by the things that life throws at you."
She finishes her drink with a shudder. "I don't even want to think what they might be up to here in town. The people that might die. You wouldn't be responsible 'cause you didn't know."
The gnome looks up at the woman and raises an eyebrow. "Of course if you did know and didn't say anything then their deaths would be on your hands as if you'd killed them yourself."
Once it becomes clear that they are in the cellar of a bar, Allandír gently urges Bruynarth back down the tunnel. Town is no place for a bear.
As Pril talks to the barkeep, he keeps a wary eye out for trouble. The cramped confines of a place like this are not suitable for archers. He hopes it doesn't come to a brawl.
Lucius can tell that Roxie is not quite being forthright in her statements to you.
Roxie shrugs. "Like I said, I don't know what you're talking about. If there is a tunnel like that, whoever dug it must have done a good job of hiding it, cause I ain't seen it."
The bartender glances around, then leans closer. "But you know, my memory really ain't what it used to be. Maybe if you did something for me, you could help jog it. My regular crowd here is reliable, but they got a reputation that tends to scare off new customers. If you can organize an event to bring some new blood in here, I think I could clear out some of the cobwebs in the old noggin."
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"Or perhaps you could act like an actual member of this community instead of attempting to profit from someone else's hard work?" The Cardinal replies with a bite in his tone. "A community thrives when people work together for the common good. Ms Piddwiemog has told you what the stakes are, and they are high indeed. A good person, one who deserved the custom of her fellow town-members, would remember that relationships and obligations run both ways and that a group is only as strong as its weakest member. So unless you want to find out when your establishment receives an official anathema from the Church of Abadar as a den of lawlessness then I suggest you 'brush out the cobwebs' and do the right thing!"
His red robes may be dirty and slightly stained but Lucius is still a cardinal of the church and when he wants to be listened to, he is!
Roxie shrinks before Cardinal Lucius's divine fury. "Alright, alright! I'll spill the beans. Yeah, I know about the tunnel, but I only found out about it a little while ago. Voz Lirayne told me about it. You know Voz? The half-elf that runs the Reliant Book Company? Anyway, she paid me handsomely to keep quiet about the tunnel's existence, as well as her comings and goings. She's a little strange, that one. She dabbles in weird magic, like with skulls and bones and stuff. I dunno what she's been doing, but I'm not surprised to hear that she's been up to no good. Her house is inside the shop, too. It's southwest of here, near Vusker's Carts & Wheels."
Allandir sighs as Roxie spills what she knows. "That is not, ah, the first time that this particular lady's name has come to our attention. Perhaps we are overdue for paying her house a visit?"
He gives the Cardinal a nod of acknowledgement once the interrogation is over. "That is, ah, quite some manner that you have. Between that and your healing powers, we would have been glad to have you in my unit during the Goblinblood Wars."
Pril slides a silver coin across the bar top. "Thank you for your cooperation," Pril says.
"Let's go talk to Ms. Lirayne," she says to the others.
The Reliant Book Company is small, obscure, and tucked into an out-of-the-way corner of Breachill. When you arrive, you find the shop is locked up tight. The front door is locked, as well as its three windows, each of which is on a different wall of the four-sided structure.
Pril frowns at the locked door and looks around.
"We should talk to the council," she says. "We can't just break in. We don't know anything yet."
"Thank you for your cooperation," Pril says.
Even as Pril suggests side-tracking their investigation to go get official help, Allandír nonchalantly smashes one of the windows with the hilt of his longsword.
"Well. Would you, ah, look at that. We should definitely go in and investigate. There could be a crime in progress."
The broken window provides access to a public display and merchandise area. Here you find shelves upon shelves of old books written in myriad languages. At the front of the room is a counter with a ledger of sales as well as an empty till box. Nothing strange is in the ledger beyond the names of locals, boring-sounding names of books bought and sold, and reasonable prices connected to the transactions. Only one of the final entries is of interest—a few days ago, Voz notes the purchase of a magical parchment that could be used to summon a fire mephit, along with a note next to this entry, dated the day before the Call for Heroes, indicating the magic parchment had gone missing.
There are two doors here. One is marked with a sign that says "Staff Only." The other is unmarked but locked.
Pril cringes.
"We don't have the authority to do that," she says in a pained voice. "Now we're breaking the law."
Allandír's green eyes harden slightly. "We are in pursuit of a Norgorberite who may or may not have the means to control not merely one but several of my people's Aiudara. I claim a higher law." His expression softens to its usual guarded caution. "Besides, this isn't Absalom. Due process takes a slightly, ah, different form out here on the frontiers."
He sighs at Pril's look. "Very well. I shall take full responsibility should, ah, need arise. Now, can we please investigate?"
As you exit the Pickled Ear, Alak thumps his fist against his breastplate. "Here is where we part ways, my friends. Thank you again for everything you have done for me. I will remain here in Breachill for some time yet. Please, do not hesitate to call on me whenever you would like."
The Hellknight armiger bows and takes his leave.
"And thank you for your assistance in our tasks," Pril replies to the armiger. She then returns his bow.
"You are correct that 'Due Process' takes a different form here," Pril says, resigning herself to the situation. "But it still lies with the city council - not with us. This is beyond what we've been contracted to do - it's beyond our granted authority."
She shakes her head, but enters the bookstore.
"But since I didn't stop you, I'm as much complicit as you are."
The gnome seems very uncomfortable.
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Lucius shakes his head as Allandir commits to breaking and entering. "I cannot support this Allandir. You are moving beyond our legal authority. I will go to speak to the Council at once, I recommend" He adds sternly, "That you stop and wait."
He turns and strides towards the town hall, trying to work out where best to find a councillor and present the case.
Pril reaches up and places a hand on Allandír's arm. "Please wait for the Cardinal to get back," she pleads, her eyes closed.
Cardinal Lucius swiftly secures an audience with Greta Gardinia. Fortunately, presenting your evidence against Voz is enough to gain permission to investigate the closed-up shop. No skeleton key for the shop exists, but you are given permission to force entry into the building as long as a town representative is present during the search to ensure that you don’t take advantage of the situation to loot the place.
The priest returns with a clerk from city hall to oversee things.
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"I have secured the legal authority to enter the property." The Cardinal says with due solemnity. "Mister Allandir, if you would proceed."
Once the shop is opened, the Cardinal enters carefully along with the clerk. He peruses the ledger, nodding in approval at most of the transactions until he comes to the summoning scroll.
"Well that fits what we have been told." He says. "Check the staff area first. Then we can deal with the locked door."
Allandír shakes his head in mild exasperation. "A law that protects necromancers and Norgorberites is not a law worth keeping. Would you protect slave-owners as well, like the Chels do?"
Nevertheless, in the interests of party unity he does give the Cardinal time to do his thing with the council.